Various Parables
by jencenD
Summary: Some oneshots from 100 themes challenge based on The Stanley Parable. Mostly Stanley/the Narrator, but nothing explicit. Rated T for possible romance and stuff.
1. 67

70) 67% - stanley/narrator (the stanley parable)

_- And Stanley was happy._

What a daring, provocative lie.

Sitting there, in his little office - that's what made him really happy. Nobody touched him, nobody said a word - you just sit there and push buttons. Whilst _he_ comes in sight.

Nobody had ever spoiled his mood that easy. Comments about everything, endless - and mindless - reasoning about the probability theories and sometimes about individual qualities - all this had very soon got under the skin. Stanley was a tranquil person - and he remained tranquil even after getting into the circle - but there came the time when he seriously started to think about finding the voice's owner. And then at least punch him in the face. The reasons for that were swarming around.

After five or six deaths and restarts Stanley had noticed that the office was changing. Sometimes the office was just disappearing and a long hallway appeared instead; sometimes the white walls changed into blue and there was a whiteboard in the 426 room. In fact, if Stanley didn't die in half an hour, he would probably find something new. And the caustic voice commented every single thing, just like Stanley's getting there was planned from the very beginning.

He seemed to be prepared for everything.

That was what Stanley thought about, opening another unfamiliar door. To his surprise, no comments or explanations followed. "Wow, my conscience had taken a break", - he thought for a moment. But then the voice returned; it sounded a lot fainter, just like struggling the interference.

"St- Stanley. Listen, you really shouldn't have entered that do-or," - it hardly said. The tone was impossible to define, whether it was decrying or warning. Stanley didn't listen to that much - every time he touched something close to the Narrator, he was getting these warning shots.

"Just a room," he thought. Why is he complaining so much about it?

Five monitors were placed on a wall inside. Just as Stanley approached them, the last monitor on the left turned on and showed an inscription:

_67 %_

"Stanley!" - The voice sounded much louder and demanding this time, like a strict mentor. - "Leave this room right now."

He gave no sign of leaving. The number was much more interesting than the Narrator's reaction to it.

67%. What could it mean? The concentration of sulfuric acid the Narrator shall put him into? Stanley had suddenly remembered that sometimes after restarting the game the voice became quite irritated. Maybe when it gets to 100%, the Narrator will be ready to turn him into dust?

Strictly speaking, why does the voice want to get him out of this room so much?

Meanwhile the second monitor came back to life. It had partly confirmed Stanley's theory.

_definition of the emotional reaction had been archived_

The emotional reaction? Does that mean _feeling? "_What a wording," Stanley mumbled to himself. On the other side, it could mean anything. There are a lot of feelings, and he spent some time sorting them out in his head until he had finally got two of them. Completely antipodal.

No, this can't be.

"Stanley, leave this room right now. Don't make me go to extremes!"

Stanley was waiting. He was interesting in what will the other monitors show him.

"I know perfectly _what _is there with you. And I ask you for good!"

For good? Does it look like that time he jumped down the stairs to spite the Narrator? Well, back then it could seem that the voice was desperate. Even though it was hard to believe.

The third monitor glowed.

_you are unbearable_

"Here you go," Stanley thought, gloomy. This is the only time he was left almost alone, given a freedom to choose - and in a single moment everything's cut off. He shook his head and started walking circles around the room, hands in pockets. Once he finished a circle, he glanced at the screens again. It made him stop and read all the monitors once again.

_67 %_

_definition of the emotional reaction had been archived_

_you are unbearable_

_do you even understand?_

_I can't stand your death_

"I've asked you to leave… Maybe, you'll listen to me at least now?"

The voice became really quiet and sounded apologizing.

"Yes, I understand your curiosity. There is a chance I'll explain you everything. But only of you leave this damn room."

Then silence came. Stanley caught himself thinking about how his invisible companion is going to justify himself. Then he steps out of the room; the door behind him closes by its own.

What a devil you are, Narrator! You've got a tail somewhere, I'm sure you have.

That's what Stanley is thinking about, sitting in his office again. The game will now restart, and the voice will explain purely nothing. Maybe he'll pretend he forgot it; maybe he'd really forgotten it but erased the 67% room just before. Ah, it's a lot easier just to find a room similar to that one and not to leave it this time. And think about antipodal emotional reactions that the Narrator had archived, foreseen.

Perhaps Stanley will be lucky enough this time.


	2. two roads

44) two roads - stanley/narrator (the stanley parable)

For some reason he always feels that the exit is close. The feeling of the only right way occupies the mind, and you follow it at the full speed - but at the end it turns out to be just a way to die. A way to lose the Narrator's game, just as always.

He perceived it as a rivalry for some time. He didn't listen to the instructions, he was opposed to every single thing the voice told him, but at the very end he was making sure that nothing really mattered. The end was always the same. Though sometimes it ended not as he thought; he never knew what happens when he unplugs the phone instead of answering the call. However, every time he did that, he got thrown back to the very beginning; that's why he had left this way after a few tries.

The only thing was clear as a bell – there are always two roads. He had the choice between left and right doors, red and blue – but sometimes also orange, - between certain death and fake escape; and during this escape – two ways again. Perhaps, the Narrator just sits there and watches curiously what the clerk will choose in a certain situation.

The Narrator. It happened sometimes that the accompaniment went silent for a long time, and Stanley became worrying for him. Not for himself, left with no guide, but for the guide personally, even though Stanley tended to hate him in the first days. The Narrator lived in shadow, commented on almost everything but never coming out. To be honest, sometimes Stanley wanted to meet him face to face – that was some kind of an intrigue. So far the Narrator was keeping that secret; not only with his face but also with the way the game was supposed to end. Indeed, almost every time Stanley would find a lot more problems, comparing to previous round. This time he didn't ever have to find them.

After one more restart, instead of his office, Stanley ended up in a room similar to that one where he needed to choose from left and right. The room had two doors as well, but they were made of steel and not the white office plastic. Both were closed, too. The clerk stood there, motionless and waiting for upcoming explanations.

"Ahem, Stanley. This shall surprise you but… I'm giving you a choice. That's not the surprising fact, hah…"

The voice sounded unsteady and, perhaps, even nervous. When was the last time Stanley heard him nervous? Possibly, when he was jumping down the stairs, not wanting to go to the "space" room. The Narrator attempted to persuade his fosterling from such a pointless idea every time. Why did Stanley jump then? To gloat because the voice had no power over him this time? But maybe because he wanted to hear someone worrying about him, just one more time?..

"So, the choice. I decided to rely on your common sense – I don't even know if I should have – and give you a chance to leave."

The news had dumbfounded silent Stanley with a metal kitchen spoon. Leave just like that? After all he's been through, after the doors that were closing by their own when you step over the doorstep?

"No, it's not that simple, of course. The choice is to leave or…" – he went silent for a while. "Generally, I've opposed something equal to this version. One room shall give you an exit; the other room shall give you me, myself."

Did you just compare yourself to freedom? Yes, good enough. The office worker came to the left door and leaned onto it with his shoulder; the door creaked and opened a bit.

"Are you really sure? It's just… When you make a step, it'll be over, no way back," – the voice sounded so warning that Stanley took a step back and looked up – just like he was hoping to see his companion up there. Then he looked alternately at both doors. Everything was quite clear.

The choice between the freedom and _this pain in the ass._

It was easier to think through both ways. He stood there, counting on his fingers.

Freedom's pros:

- freedom;

- no vicious circle;

- …a family? The Narrator could obviously lie about Stanley having no family. By the way, one more – no Narrator, no one escorts you all day long and describes the things you're doing.

Then, this place's pros. Staying here, with this storyteller. What pros could it have? He never happened to think about it.

Did the voice's owner think he would be preferred instead of freedom? Or did he _hope_so? The only "pro" Stanley could think about was the Narrator himself.

"Stanley, are you choosing? I'm not rushing you, I ask you to think and… and make a certain decision."

The decision itself didn't need much to think about. Stanley couldn't quite recall what was waiting for him in the real world, but if his life was the same that the Narrator described, was it worth coming back? That would be an escape to nowhere. With no one to explain what to do and not to do…

Hell of a free choice that was.

Stanley took a deep breath and pulled the right door.

"I see you've finally cho— oh!" – The voice was coming from this door and sounded like its owner was not expecting guests at all. "Stanley, is that you?"

He stood in silence before the open door. A few seconds passed.

"Y-you… have chosen me? But why not the exit?" – The voice was quite surprised. Stanley couldn't clearly see the talking one, and a wish to enter the room was so tempting, but he was once again stopped.

"No! Wait, are you done with it? There is no other chance, do you understand?"

He nodded. His companion's identity was a quite interesting thing to learn, and he made a step completely fearless. One more, ten more steps.

The room was quite dark, but there was a lamp at the ceiling, like in that phone room. This room was a bit bigger and had no phone in it; instead there were four chairs under the light spot*. A tall man stood behind these chairs; his face was turned to the light, and a pure astonishment could be read on it.

"Stanley… it wasn't worth it. I am only a narrator, and you had a chance to leave," – he finally spoke up. The walls reflected his well-trained voice, and this made the room look shrinking. The clerk shook his head and stepped towards him. One more step, one more, and a few more until he stood right in front of him. The Narrator began to panic.

"Hey, if you came here to punch me in the face, then I am going to defend myself. It's my job, after all—" he began justifying himself. But he clearly couldn't expect what happened next. The worker's hands wrapped around him, pulling the Narrator closer and not letting him go. He tried to resent a little, but that didn't affect in any way.

"St- Stanley, let me go," he begged, constrained. "What's wrong with you?"

Something muffled resembling "you ain't going anywhere now" could be heard.

* * *

* spoiler – «Narrator's room» from the Museum Ending


	3. drowning

91) drowning - stanley/narrator (the stanley parable)

Something went wrong.

Cold, it's too cold. Something incredibly cold gets under the skin and paralyses every part of the body. It touches chest muscles, it entangles everything. It had almost caught the face.

When the floor disappeared, he wasn't surprised that much. That's what the keeper of this place used to do along with commenting on his companion's credulity. But this time he hadn't said a word.

Freezing, tenacious liquid fills the ears, and he can feel the consciousness disappearing. Then it finds its way to the throat, cutting him off the life.

What a foolish way to die.

_Stanley!_

He feels a tight grip on his shirt's collar – the only thing he could feel at all besides the unbearable cold and drilling in the throat. Other organs begin to turn down, leaving only heavily muffled hearing in action. The cold liquid didn't go anywhere, but suddenly moved away from the top of his body. Or were this the hands that moved him?

_Stanley, look at me._

Now he is in a completely different place; at least he's lying not in something cold but on something solid. He clears his throat, and liquid pours out of the lungs. The throat's drill works again, even harder than before. His hearing is still muted and he can't open his eyes. Or he doesn't want to.

_Gosh, I am in time._

Coughing repeatedly, he tries to look up on the wailing one. The voice sounds painfully familiar.

_You've had me scared, Stanley. Do you understand that I could not get here in time?_

He understands absolutely nothing. It's opened to him only now that he was drowning in a submerged room, and then the hands came along and saved him. There also was a tie. A red, scarlet tie. The wailing figure has one as well.

Hell of an occasion to meet.


	4. break away

6) breaking away

He couldn't hear silence for a long time already.

No, really. When your conscience talks to you because you did something nasty, that's normal. Even if your conscience is as two-tongued as you are. Conscience is actually you, your other side which can always see if you are right or wrong, was it worth lying to your wife or you could just tell her every single thing.

Technically, we are all schizoid. Every man has got a conscience, even those who claim not to have one; it's just keeping silence or can't talk at all.

But when it's not _your _conscience that is talking to you, that is something worse, way worse.

Stanley thinks that conscience, whatever it is, physically can't orate that long and absorbedly. Yes, he has got his cons. He's got an easy job, he liked it, and he liked the employee lounge. Is it bad by conscience standards?

It is not if it's not disturbing anyone. The "conscience", however, seemed to be disturbed by almost everything.

But then it disappeared.

That seemed to be no great loss. Stanley definitely thought so when he couldn't hear regular comments about him touching every single thing and not moving the Story forward. Now no one told him where to go, and no one told he's going the wrong way. That seemed to be a complete freedom. Yes, Stanley was quite delighted and made his way wherever he wanted. He got back to the meeting room, them turned the way to the "left" door and further, and further, to his own office. Then he turned around and did all the way back. Going back, he noticed that the "right" door was now closed, as the boss' office.

And at this very moment, for the first time since the "conscience" disappeared, he felt very…

…_lonely_.

Not because he had nowhere left to go. He didn't quite understand himself why he got so sad.

Then Stanley saw an opened door just before his office. He never saw anyone entering this door. And now, without the Narrator, nothing opened by itself. The office worker rushed towards the opened door, believing blindly that he can play this game without the voice.

Maybe, even with him. Somewhere deep in mind Stanley was still hoping that the talking thing will once again take a place inside his mind, and everything shall be comparatively good.

And there is a giant poster on the wall; it's so big that much money must've been spent to print it.

**«****YOU ****ARE ****NOW ****LEAVING****»**

The feeling of the oncoming freedom intoxicated the clerk, and five or six – oh never mind how much! – flights of stairs were nothing over against what was waiting for him. Or should we say – what he was waiting for? A few more stairs, one more step, and one more…

One more poster. Maybe even larger than that one on floor #754. A schematic image of a man and a cabin, title **«ESCAPE POD LAUNCH BAY»**...

And words and words and words. This part of the poster was quite dirty, and Stanley couldn't read it fully. But the main words were still easy to puzzle out.

_BOTH THE NARRATOR AND THE PLAYER MUST BE PRESENT IN ORDER FOR ESCAPE SEQUENCE TO PLAY OUT AS INTENDED_

Stanley noticed just now how his legs are giving way under after running up the stairs. The flight sense, which the Narrator once told him about, changed places with the disappointment. He did a step, then one more. Then he stumbled and fell on the concrete floor, barely putting his hands back for support.

He has just now noticed that there is no freedom without the Narrator. Yes, the game gave him a chance, but that was a false scent, which he thought was a backdoor. The realization had struck him painfully, struck straight into the middle of his chest and wasn't giving a chance to get up. His hands and legs had themselves brought the body into the nearest corner, and as soon as his back touched the wall, Stanley curled up in this corner, pulling his knees to chest.

What if he just needed to wait? He'll sit here, not interfering, in the way he always sat in his own office. And then – boom! – everything will fall into place, and he'll quit the reclusion.

Maybe the Narrator shall come back. Oh yes, he shall come back. He shall come back, and then apologize for such an immediate leaving. Or maybe he'll scream at him, scream about how Stanley had broken such an important binding between them.

Oh, let him at least come back.

Then everything will be fine again.

_I'll just wait._


	5. fairytale

36) fairytale

When Stanley came to a set of two open doors, he…

You know what? I'm sick of this. How many times you've already come here? You didn't count, did you? Well, I did. One hundred. Yes, that is a beautiful number, but that's a bit much!

What did I think about… Sit down. There are few chairs in that corner, sit there. No, we're not going anywhere until I create something new. You may… Oh well, do something. Go find yourself a keyboard, press those buttons of yours, I don't know. You're capable of doing things yourself. Aren't you, Stanley?

No, wait. Don't go anywhere, sit right here. Breaking things is just your favorite thing to do. What, ain't I capable of looking after you? Hmm… Ideas, ideas.

Oh, maybe you want me to tell you a fairytale? I am a narrator, at the end. A fairytale… It is usually a story, in which there are sufferers and good people, and then good people come along and make everything as brilliant as they are. That's surely boring, but good enough for small children. So, will you listen?

Yeah, great. Here is a story, especially for you. Once upon a time, there was a… ahem, yes, there was a young woman. She was nice and not wealthy. The young woman lived in a village near a wi-ide river. It was so wide that during spring floods it covered the village completely…

Err, what are we talking about? So, this woman lived there. And then one day she walked out and saw no one around. No humans, no animals, no one at all. She checked out all the houses in her village, but there was still no living soul. She thought it was a monster. A monster came to her village, ate all the animals and took the people to slavery. Yes, that was what she thought. Stanley, stop biting your nails and listen.

But she didn't gather up her jackets and move out to fight the monster. That's what knights do, not young women. She came out, sat down and asked her inner voice what to do. But whatever this voice told her (he was right by the way), she did everything straight opposite. And now she thought that there is no way to save the others, walked to the river and threw herself into it. A familiar thing for you to do, Stanley…

What? Are you… are you upset? Oh, God bless that negligent woman. She drowned herself, so what? Some fairytales just go bad.

Ah, I see. You want a good fairytale where everyone ends up happy for ever. Oh, here you go.

Once upon a time there was one man. Maybe your former co-worker, maybe the President of France, whoever. He could never make a choice. And he had a friend, which he always called and never saw face to face. This friend was a very good man; he saw much and knew much, a great man all around. He always told that man the right choices, and the man never made them, choosing the opposite way.

Then the friend got upset. He called that man and told him furiously: "Why do you always ask for help but never use it?! I will never help you ever again". And that's all, the man never heard from his friend again. Some time passed and the man was caught by complete depression. "What is he still could be here? I'd tell him how much I need him", he thought.

And then a miracle happened! The man suddenly met his friend when neither of them expected to. And the man was so happy that he smothered him with kisses and said that he'll listen to everything the friend said if only he wouldn't leave again. There, Stanley, the moral of the story is that you need to listen to what you're told.

Stanley, are you there? You're so quiet. Oh, you're thinking it over… I won't disturb you.

Wait, I think… I found a new way. Stanley, down with these bloody doors, let's go a different way! Get up, our fairytale's waiting.

Why aren't you going? Oh please, don't start this again.

Please, _do __not__._

Aw hell, whatever! If you don't want to follow my direction, follow your own. I'll not interrupt, in case I'm that useless for you.

* * *

_A/N: __Stanley is bad at understanding the stories' meaning, I guess._

_I think I'll stop updating this for a while. I've got a big AU based on The Stanley Parable, and I think it's time to start writing it out. These short fics are sort of momentary inspiration for me, and that fic will grab all my writing "talent". Stay tuned if you want._


	6. sun

40) sun

_Have you ever noticed how much children suffering from rickets are there in our world? Everyone who knows at least basic biology shall tell you – that's lack of Vitamin D, lack of sunlight. Why__? __Because the modern generation lives indoors, where the sun can't reach them. Catering leaves much to be desired as well, so there's not enough Vitamin D both in food and the environment. Ain__'__t__I__right__, __Stanley__?_

Yeah, yeah. Telling this to a man who had only once been outside, and that time was also proved to be a fake.

Of course, every one who spends his daytime inside this building – which looks much like an anthill – will miss the outer world. If you can't leave the building, it's even worse. Employee 427 was feeling this for a long time already and taught himself to contain the homesickness. By home he meant at least the nature. The fresh air, the endless green fields, the clear water in the rivers, the sun shining so brightly…

_By the way, about the sun. You drew twenty six little suns on the quarterly finance report. If your colleagues and boss were here, you'd not feel that pretty about it._

Ah, yes. The instant commentator added to his gloom. He never missed a chance to remind how good the outside world is. Stanley did nothing against these comments. He just slowed down during observing the offices and examining pictures on the walls. One picture caught his attention, and he spent about four hours sitting in front of it.

_Stanley, are you there? We should keep moving, you know._

Certainly, throughout all four hours the Narrator kept reminding patiently that the purpose of the Story is not observing pictures but going forward. The clerk didn't listen to him, as he used to do. He was bored to look at one picture for so long, but standing up and moving to another one meant losing the "temporizing" game.

The first one to give up, after an hour and a half, was the Narrator.

_Okay, good, if you want your outer world so much, I can give you a tiny piece of it. That's all I can give you, so please stand up and follow._

Nodding contentedly, Stanley got up from his observation point and came at his invisible instructor's direction. When he'd been leaded to the end, he saw the door numbered 426 – the one that sometimes had a big whiteboard inside.

_Okay__. __Now __count __to __ten__. __Count aloud, and then pull the door at yourself._

Stanley got used to the Narrator's tasks to do, so he wasn't surprised and did as he was told. Saying "ten" louder, he pulled the door, and it opened, screeching.

The whiteboard didn't go anywhere, but there was a significant change. A large yellow circle was covering it, and a few sticks – must be sunbeams – were surrounding it. Stanley simply stood in confusion, and the Narrator's quiet laugh could already be heard.

_Well, you've been suffering from lack of air, lack of sun… __Hier kommt die Sonne*, as the song says. __Here, I fulfilled your wish, now let's proceed._

Employee 427 stood a few more minutes looking at the big painted sun, and a strange feeling was tickling his chest. It has even made him smile a little before closing the door and coming away.

* * *

_*here comes the sun (Rammstein, «Sonne»)_


End file.
